


Mutant

by Liliththestormgoddess



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Team, Clint Angst, Clint Feels, Gen, Insecure Clint, Mutants, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liliththestormgoddess/pseuds/Liliththestormgoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been three months since the Avengers last saw one another after saving the world from the Chitauri. Now they’re called in to deal with a mad scientist who is obsessed with rabid mutants. It seems like a simple operation, but it’s only later when they realize something horrible has happened to Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flight

“These things are god-damn ugly,” Clint grunted, aiming and loosing an arrow straight into the neck of some tiger-fish-lizard…thing. It let out a spine-chilling shriek and keeled over. Captain America leapt out of the way of its falling body, pausing only long enough to nod to the archer in thanks before turning his attention to the next approaching mutant. His shield was a blur as he slung it around, driving it into the ribs of the mutant, giving Natasha a chance to leap on it and cut its throat.

She leapt back off, not even blinking at the green blood that covered her hands and her suit. “They smell like shit, too,” she quipped.

A giant roar sounded from behind them, and the Hulk swept through, swinging his fists through several mutants. His cries grew louder and angrier when one sank it’s teeth into his arm, and he spent several seconds swinging it around, attempting to dislodge it.

Lightening and thunder crackled and rained down from the sky, directed by Thor. He was vaporizing most of the mutants he saw; some, however, were irritatingly immune. In fact, if his eyes were to be believed, they were _swallowing_ the lightening.

One such mutant – one with a lion head and a fish tail – breathed fire directly into the path of the oncoming Iron Man, who was pushed back a few feet and dipped slightly in the air. Tony scowled behind his mask as JARVIS calmly told him the damage the fire had done – minimal, as his suit was _obviously_ flame retardant – but enough to piss him off. “Not cool, fish lips,” he said, and struck him with a blast from one of his hand repulsors. The lion-fish let out a piercing wail and erupted into flames. When the fire cleared, there was nothing left of it.

Atop his rooftop perch, Hawkeye calmly watched everything and everyone. He kept tabs on where his team was at all times and where the mutants were and how many were left. He continued to shoot down the mutants, but movement to his left caught his eye. The rooftop door on the building next to him slammed open and men streamed out, toting large semi-automatic guns. They spotted him immediately, and Clint tucked and rolled, feeling the gravel bite into his face as the bullets dove into the ground around him.

“Alright, who called in reinforcements?” he cracked as he made a mad dash to the ledge of the roof. He didn’t slow down as he neared it, instead springing off the edge. The next roof was slightly higher than the one he had just left, but he called on his old acrobat training and grasped the ledge with both hands and used all his upper body strength to swing the lower half of his body up and onto the roof.

He continued the roll, avoiding the bullets and ignoring the angry shouts of the men behind him. He heard metal crash against metal, and spared a glance behind him to see that grappling hooks were being put to use.

“Hawkeye, what’s going on?” Rogers demanded in his ear.

“Nest compromised. I’m taking the stairs.” There were only two buildings in the middle of the jungle where the mad scientist had set up shop, and Clint had reached his end point. Wrenching open the door of the roof in front of him, he dashed down into the building.

He stopped inside the wide, dark room, and eyed the lab apprehensively. Shelves and shelves were lined with bottles and bottles of blood. He assumed it was all the mutant’s blood that the scientist was using. SHIELD would want to seize and study it, he knew. But for now, he wanted nothing to do with it.

He could hear the men getting closer, so he began to run towards the exit. He was nearly there when his feet caught something and he stumbled slightly. Glancing down, he saw the trailing end of a thin silvery string. His eyes grew wide. “Shit,” he swore, and desperately leapt for the door. He’d barely cracked it open when there was a deafening explosion from behind him, pain and heat enveloped his body, and everything went mercifully black.

* * *

The nearby Avengers turned as the building in front of them exploded. They saw Hawkeye’s form sail out through the door and tumble heavily to the ground. He landed in a heap, unmoving.

Thor obliterated the last mutant as Natasha and Steve scrambled over to their fallen comrade.

Clint was unconscious, with a nasty cut on his forehead that bled down the side of his face. His uniform was covered in debris and shredded and singed in several places.

“Barton!” Natasha barked, kneeling next to him. When she got no response, she tapped his cheek none too gently. “Clint!”

She got the desired response. He moaned and tried to move away from her touch. Then he coughed harshly and opened his eyes, taking in the faces hovering over him, the burning building behind them, and the fact that every inch of his body _hurt_. “Ow,” he said.

Natasha smirked. He began to peel himself off the ground, slowly rising to his feet, but that proved to be too fast. He swayed, but the Cap’s hand grabbed his bicep, steadying him. When his head stopped spinning, he nodded and Steve let go.

He squinted around them, wiping the blood from his eyes. “We get them?” he asked. His voice sounded horrible, and he coughed once more, trying to get all the dust from it.

Stark dropped down next to them, and Thor ambled over to join them. “Not another living thing left,” Stark said, the mask of his suit sliding up. “Not even the hired help.” He looked pointedly at Barton.

“Hey,” he said defensively. “What kind of idiot puts a trip wire in a laboratory?” He tried to joke but ended up in another coughing fit. When he finished, he scowled. “Jesus.”

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Rogers pointed out, his face betraying his concern. “I really don’t know how you survived that blast.”

“It’s kinda hard to kill me, Cap.” Barton smirked, then turned serious. “I think the explosives were set up more in the back of the lab. Closer to the security. Probably nothing left of them.” He turned to look back at the smouldering lab, wincing. “SHIELD wanted all that crap in there. Damn.”

The five of them stood there waiting for their evacuation and clean-up team while the Hulk lumbered around, growling at the mutant remains.

* * *

“I’m fine!” Barton snapped angrily.

Natasha, eyes ablaze, put her hands on her hips. “You damn well are _not_ fine,” she spat. Her eyes roamed over his body, cataloguing his obvious injuries. She knew there was more that she couldn’t see. The man had survived a _bomb_ , for Christ’s sake.

“I’m not going to medical,” he growled as he stowed his gear away in his locker. “I don’t need it.”

Natasha pursed her lips, weighing her options. Neither of them really liked medical aboard the helicarrier, but he really needed medical attention. They were more of field medics, and she could only do so much. She offered up a compromise. “Fine. But we’re heading with the others to Stark tower and you let Dr. Banner patch you up.” While his specialty was not a medical doctor, he certainly knew more than either of them.

He regarded her for several long seconds before nodding tersely. “Fine.”

* * *

 

While Banner had settled down at Stark tower after the first battle, the rest of the tower remained vacant save for Tony, and Pepper when she wasn’t elsewhere doing business. Steve had traveled a bit, Thor had gone back to Asgard and only returned to visit Jane Foster two days before the mutant science experiment crisis, and Clint and Natasha had been busy with various other missions for SHIELD. So it was the first time all of them had been together in the same room, and not having to save the world.

Pepper had come running towards the opening elevator doors when they arrived. Her eyes held the fear and apprehension that she had felt ever since Tony had left. She immediately grabbed him and began searching for any injuries, even when Tony grabbed her hands and assured her he was fine.

Her eyes fell upon the rest of the rag-tag group that stumbled out of the elevator and looked uneasily around the room. “Tony…?” she asked, eyeing the group. The only one she recognized was the solitary female figure, Natalie – _Natasha_ , she corrected herself.

“Ah, come, meet the gang,” he said grandly, sweeping an arm out to the others. “Well, you’ve met Bruce and Mrs. Deadly. This here is Steve Rogers, the genuine Capsicle and America’s golden boy; Thor, who comes from another planet via a _rainbow bridge_ of all things; and Clint Barton, who has an identity crisis and thinks he’s Robin Hood. Guys, this is the most wonderful woman in the world: Pepper Potts.”

“Lady Potts, it is a great pleasure,” Thor rumbled as he took Pepper’s hand and brought it to his lips. He gazed at her and smiled charmingly; completely missing the glare Tony sent his way. When Thor let go of her hand, Tony pulled her towards him possessively.

Pepper blushed after the dramatic introduction, but smiled at the group. “Um, thank you. Would you like anything? Something to drink?”

Steve spoke up. “A water please, ma’am,” he said politely. Stark just rolled his eyes. Pepper dashed off to the kitchen as the Avengers moved towards the sitting room.

Clint walked stiffly beside Natasha, who was shooting him death glares. There wasn’t much in the world that Hawkeye feared; but the Black Widow was certainly one of them.

He sighed and moved up behind Dr. Banner, who had lingered at the edge of the room, not joining the others in sitting on the couches drinking the water Pepper had retrieved. “Dr. Banner?” he asked softly.

Banner jumped a little, having not heard the spy sneak up behind him. He turned to look at the battered Clint, and already guessed what was coming. “Agent Barton?”

Barton’s eyes darted anxiously, and Banner followed his gaze towards the irate Russian sitting on the couch shooting him death glares. He fought off the smirk pulling at his lips. Finally, Clint said in a low voice, “I was hoping you could help me.”

Bruce nodded. “Sure, of course. Here, let’s go down the hall.” The two walked from the room unnoticed, and slipped into an empty room a few doors down. Clint sat on the bed while Bruce retrieved the necessary medical supplies. When he came back, he said, “You know I’m not a medical doctor – “

Clint cut him off. “I know. It’s fine. Just do what you can.”

Bruce let out a heavy breath and nodded. “Don’t like the doctors on base?” he asked. He got a guarded stare in return. “Okay,” he finally said. “I’ll start with the head wound.”

After cleaning and patching up the cut on his head – Bruce determined that Clint did not receive a concussion – Bruce had Clint remove his shirt so he could get a look at his upper body. His chest seemed to be fine, and there were only minor cuts and burns on his arms. His back, however, seemed to have taken the brunt of the blast. Numerous small debris was lodged in his back and Bruce painstakingly pulled each one out. Clint never said a word or made a sound, and Bruce tried to ignore the numerous other scars that littered Clint’s body; some old, some newer, and some that looked extremely painful.

When he was done he stood up and discarded the bloody clothes in the trash. “I’m sure there’s some painkiller around – “ he began, but again, Clint cut him off.

“Don’t need it. Thanks Doc,” he said and left.

Bruce watched him go, sighed, and went back to the sitting room where the rest of them – minus Clint – sat.

* * *

 

Clint wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but his head was spinning. The walls kept looming over him and he constantly tripped over the rising floor. He made his way to the closest room, shut and locked the door behind him, and fell onto the bed. He was still half clothed in his tattered uniform, but he didn’t care. There was an insistent ringing in his ears that refused to abate, and his head pounded like someone had smashed it around a few times. He shut his eyes tight and fell into sleep.

* * *

 

When he awoke, he was surprised to see the sun streaming in the window. Blinking blearily, he tried to determine where he was and what time it was. His brain felt extremely sluggish.

“Good morning, Agent Barton,” a posh British voice greeted him, and Clint whipped his head around, unsheathing the knife strapped to his thigh. “I am JARVIS, Mr. Stark’s artificial intelligence system.”

Dropping the knife, Clint unclenched his hands and groaned, dropping his pounding head back into the pillow. At least that answered one of his questions. He was at Stark tower. He vaguely remembered that. “What –“ he broke off into another coughing fit that had him curling up into a ball. When he finally caught his breath again, he asked, “What time is it?”

“10:13 am,” the voice responded.

“Damn,” Clint groaned, pushing himself off the bed. Everything twisted around him, and he stumbled to the ground. Did he get drunk last night? He couldn’t remember. He hadn’t felt this shitty in a long time.

“Should I get assistance, Agent Barton?” the AI asked.

“No,” Clint groaned. “I’m fine.” He managed to get his legs under him and he stood and stayed there. It felt like a huge accomplishment. He rotated his sore shoulders and neck, feeling the muscles groan and protest. Was he coming down with something nasty? He slipped a shirt that he found in the closet over his head and winced as it rubbed against all of his new wounds.

“I need coffee,” he muttered. That would solve all his problems. He stumbled towards the door, hearing JARVIS inform him, “the kitchen is located down the hall and on you’re right.” He waved a hand lazily and set off to find the kitchen.

He found it easily enough and stumbled in, expecting it to be empty. Instead, Pepper Potts sat at the table, drinking coffee and making notes in a file. She looked up at the new arrival, and her eyes grew wide. Clint figured he must be a sight to look at. But he really didn’t care at the moment. All he cared about was coffee.

“Uh, Miss Potts,” he greeted as politely as he could.

“Good morning, Agent Barton,” she returned, shocked eyes still fixed on him. He was glad that he had remembered to put on a shirt, because he really didn’t want her staring at his back. Her eyes finally pulled away and she glanced over at the half empty coffee pot. “Coffee?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said and dashed towards it. He was filling up a cup and skipping sugar and milk and just going straight for black because he was too impatient, when Bruce walked into the kitchen.

He looked slightly taken aback by Clint standing there, and Clint began wishing he’d actually taken the time to look in the mirror before he’d left his room. Did he really look as bad as he felt?

Bruce offered up a smile. “How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?” he asked as he emptied out the coffee pot.

“Fine,” was all Clint offered. He was focusing on not throwing up. There was a rushing sense of vertigo and the lights were stabbing at his eyes. He slumped into the nearest chair at the table, at an angle from Pepper. Bruce remained at the counter, frowning at him over his cup.

“Clint?”

He didn’t hear Natasha come in. He hunched over his mug, trying to find a position that didn’t bring upon extreme agony. It was getting hard. There was a sharp pain in his abdomen, and his back muscles felt like they were being stretched. He felt his hands begin to shake, but he wrapped them tighter around his mug, trying to quell it. He succeeded in spilling most of the hot liquid on his hands. He didn’t even feel it.

He was suddenly very cold, and he broke out into shivers. He heard loud voices, but he couldn’t see them. His vision was swimming in and out, the colours blending together until nothing was recognizable.

Suddenly, he felt the sensation of falling. Was he on the floor now? It didn’t matter. He curled inwards, trying to stop the stabbing in his abdomen. He shut his eyes tight. He began to cough again; this time it was wet and sticky and something was on his hands. It looked red. He couldn’t stop coughing. It shook his whole body. He felt his heart beat faster and faster and faster…and slam to a stop.


	2. Hatch

Bruce regarded the agent over his mug of coffee. Barton certainly did not look fine. Was he suffering from an infection? He’d cleaned out all his wounds and gave him shots. Did he miss something? The man had dark bags under his eyes and was staring resolutely at the table in front of him.

Suddenly, the man tensed every muscle in his body, and hunched further over the table. He grasped his mug with tight hands, his knuckles turning white with the effort and he spilled coffee over himself.

Bruce set his mug down. This wasn’t right. Something was very wrong. Just as he set towards the archer, Natasha walked in. Immediately, she’d zoned in on her partner.

“Clint?” she asked, in a seemingly indifferent but curious voice, but Bruce saw concern in her eyes. The man in question didn’t seem to hear her, but instead closed his eyes as he broke out in a cold sweat. His body shook in violent shivers and he slipped out of the chair, sliding to the ground.

Bruce and Natasha leapt towards the man, who moaned and curled in on himself. He heard Pepper shouting at JARVIS in the background.

Clint began to cough. Horrible wet coughs, and Bruce’s heart dropped when he saw blood on the floor. Clint was coughing up blood. Something was terribly, horribly wrong.

For several long moments, Clint continued to cough. They turned him on his side so that he wouldn’t choke on the blood. Then, just as suddenly as it all began, it stopped.

Bruce, fearing the worst, immediately pressed two fingers to the man’s carotid artery. He blanched. There was no pulse. He laid an ear next to his mouth. Nothing.

“He’s not breathing!” he yelled. Immediately he scrambled up and straddled the unresponsive man, interlacing his hands and starting chest compressions. Without having to be told, Natasha began pressing her mouth over Clint’s and breathing for him. His chest rose and fell with each compression and breath, but Clint still did not respond.

He heard shouting behind him, and Pepper dropped down next to him, holding a defibrillator. “Here,” she choked, shoving the box towards him.

Bruce glanced up to see that Steve had followed her in. He looked shocked and terrified to see one of his teammates unmoving on the floor. “Steve!” Bruce shouted at him. “Continue the compressions,” he ordered, and the super soldier obediently dropped next to him, taking his place as Bruce scrambled over to the defibrillator.

He started up the charges, and it seemed like agonizing seconds before they were ready to go. He spent those precious seconds watching Steve and Natasha alternately pump and breathe life into the agent.

When the beep signalled the defibrillator was ready, Steve moved out of the way and Bruce slammed the paddles onto Clint’s chest. His body jerked wildly, but his heart did not start. Bruce growled and upped the charge. He shocked the man again. Nothing. Raising the charge and praying that the third time’s the charm, Bruce zapped Clint again.

A strangled wheeze broke from Clint’s mouth, but it was like music to their ears. He continued to gasp and wheeze, but his eyes remained closed and unseeing.

Bruce allowed himself only a second of calm before he issued more orders. “Let’s move him to a bed.”

Steve nodded and gently lifted Clint up. He carried him to the room Pepper directed him to, and deposited him on the bed. Natasha brushed the damp hair off his forehead as Bruce fitted him with an oxygen mask.

For several long seconds, the four of them just stood there, breathing hard and trying to calm their hearts. Natasha was the first to speak. “What the hell was that?” she demanded angrily.

Bruce ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he admitted, studying the previously dead archer.

Just then, Tony, clad in rumpled clothes and his hair sticking out every which way, skidded to a stop in the doorway. “JARVIS said that someone went into _cardiac arrest_ in my kitchen?” he said incredulously, sounding quite out of breath. He surveyed the scene before him, his eyes landing on the fallen archer. “What the f-“

Bruce cut him off. “He seemed fine yesterday. Sore and injured, but not this bad. We were just in the kitchen when he went down…” he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “…And his heart stopped beating.”

Natasha was leaning over Clint, pulling up his shirt to check his wounds. She peeled back bandages and inspected his injuries for infections. The wounds were fresh, but they were healing nicely. There was no puffiness or angry red, and there was no puss. No definite signs of infections. His skin wasn’t hot or clammy and he didn’t have a fever.

She shot a frown at the others. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” There was a pleading, desperate tone to her voice.

“I’m going to take blood samples,” Bruce decided. It was the only thing he could think of. “I’ll analyze them…” he trailed off. He didn’t know what he was analyzing them _for_ , but it was a start. “And we need to take a look at his lungs.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, yeah.” He looked especially lost, too.

* * *

 

_He was flying._

_The wind felt nice on his face, rushing past his body. He banked left, and felt the rush of pure joy that swept through him. This was where he was meant to be. This was what he was meant to do._

_He could see everything from up here._

_He kept to a wide circle, lazily circling the land, watching from above. No one could touch him here. Here, he was invincible. He was on top._

_Something below caught his eye. With a cry, he angled his body down, pulling himself in, barrelling towards the ground. He approached the ground fast as a rocket. He didn’t even attempt to slow down as he kept going and going and going…_

Clint awoke with a gasp. He forced open his eyes and over his pounding heart, managed to make out that he wasn’t outside, flying. He was in a room, lying in a bed.

Someone was leaning over him, and he whipped his head around to lock eyes with Natasha. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. If Natasha was here, then everything would be fine. He was safe. She grabbed his hand in hers and smiled at him. “It’s alright, Clint. Just take it easy.”

He leaned back into the pillows and took deep, calming breaths. Slowly, his heart rate returned to normal.

Natasha spoke again. “How do you feel?”

Clint frowned. How did he feel? Everything hurt, for one. But it was mostly concentrated to his ribs. It felt like someone had pounded on his chest. “Um, my ribs,” he told Natasha, hating how his voice sounded. The words set him coughing again, which was agony on his ribs. “What happened?” he asked when he had control again.

Natasha regarded him curiously. “What do you remember?”

What did he remember? He remembered the mission – fighting those stupid mutants – and he remembered the explosion. He remembered the pain and Banner patching him up and waking up feeling like shit – but that’s where he drew a blank.

“Mm,” he said, “I woke up and went for coffee, but that’s it. Tasha, why does it feel like the Hulk danced on my chest?”

For a minute he thought her eyes were getting watery, but the next second it was gone and he figured he imagined it. “Bruce and Steve performed CPR,” she said matter-of-factly. “You went into cardiac arrest on the kitchen floor.”

Her words floored Clint. He stared at her, trying to comprehend it. He’d… _died_?

“What the hell?” he murmured, shutting his eyes and running a hand across his face.

“Banner and Stark are analyzing your blood now. We don’t know why your heart stopped.”

There was a light knock at the door and Rogers stood there, a small smile on his face as he shifted uncomfortably. “Barton,” he greeted, stepping in. “How are you?”

Clint tried to offer the soldier a reassuring smile. The man was looking at him like he might break into little pieces at a moment’s notice. Though, from what it sounded like, he probably couldn’t really blame him. “Fine, Cap. Just my ribs are sore.” It wasn’t really a lie, per se. He was starting to remember how he felt in the kitchen; his pain now was nowhere close to that.

Steve nodded and started to say something, when Thor burst into the room, booming, “My friend, Clinton Barton! Have thy ails lifted?” He smiled down at a slightly shocked Clint.

“Uh, yeah, Thor, I guess.”

“Do you desire some sustenance? This Midguardian dish is rather wonderful, I find.” He thrust a box of pop tarts under Clint’s nose.

“Uh, no thanks, buddy. I’m fine.”

Thor nodded and pulled the box back, suddenly loosing the smile from his face. He stared down in concern at the archer, fiddling with the pop tarts. It seemed now he had no clue as what to say, or do.

It was at that moment that Bruce and Tony arrived. “JARVIS told me you were awake,” Tony said as he entered. He had changed into a less rumpled jeans and t-shirt.

“Creepy,” Clint commented, glancing towards the ceiling. Tony snorted.

Bruce walked around to the other side of his bed. “How do you feel?” he asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

Clint shifted uncomfortably, not used to having all these people stare at him and ask how he was feeling – and actually care about the answer. “Better than before,” he responded.

Bruce nodded, fiddling nervously with his glasses. His eyes flitted around for a few moments before he spoke again. “We analyzed your blood. Fortunately and unfortunately, whichever way you want to put it, we found nothing wrong.” He exchanged glances with Tony. “We found nothing wrong with your lungs, even though you were coughing up blood. Your red and white blood cell count was a little high, but that’s to be expected as your body heals and fights off possible infections from the wounds. But other than that…”

“We got shit,” Tony finished plainly.

“Um, yeah,” Bruce agreed sheepishly. “I want to take some more samples and run more tests. There’s no reason why your heart should have just _stopped_.”

“Okay,” Clint agreed. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms, wincing as he did so. It felt like his skin was on too tight. It was one of the most uncomfortable feelings.

“Everything okay?” Banner asked again, noticing the man’s discomfort.

“Yeah, f-“

“And don’t say ‘fine’,” Bruce cut in sternly.

Clint comically shut his mouth over the words. “Uh, just some discomfort. Nothing to worry about.”

Bruce regarded him for another moment or so, before accepting his response. He pulled out some syringes and filled them with Clint’s blood, before leaving with Tony to analyze them. The others filed out, leaving Clint alone with Natasha.

Once they were alone, Clint struggled to a sitting position. It was hard and tortuous with his bruised ribs, but he could do it. He sat, breathing hard for several long moments, before pulling his strength back together. He threw the sheets back and swung his legs over the side.

Natasha was there in an instant. “What the hell are you doing, Clint?”

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth, clenching the bed covers in his fists.

“Clint, a few hours ago you died on the kitchen floor. Get back in the bed.”

“Nat, I told you I’m fine,” he insisted, pushing himself to his feet. He swayed for a moment before catching his balance.

Furious, Natasha crossed her arms over her chest, just watching her partner. If he wanted to pretend nothing had happened, fine. Then when he fell she refused to help him up. “And that’s not right, Clint. It…” she trailed off, losing some of her steam. The whole thing had really taken her by surprise. Clint shouldn’t have gone into cardiac arrest in the first place. He shouldn’t have recovered so fast either. She didn’t know how to deal with this.

Clint smiled disarmingly at her. “Relax, Nat. I need to walk around a bit.”

She let out her breath in a huff, but didn’t stop him as he ambled out of the room. Shaking her head at his stubbornness, she followed him out.

As Clint walked around the floor of the tower, he started to feel much better. All the tension was fading from his muscles, the stiffness was evading, and the pounding was gone from his head. There was no longer a ringing in his ears either. Except for the continued feeling that his skin was being stretched too tight across his back and down his arms, he felt nothing like he did earlier.

Clint made his way to the kitchen where he found Pepper at the kitchen table, making notes in some files. The scene was like déjà vu, and she must have felt he same way because she simultaneously looked worried and relieved to see him standing there.

“Oh, Agent Barton,” she exclaimed, “what are you doing up? How are you feeling?”

“Fine, thank you, Miss Potts,” he replied. He was really, _really_ thirsty. He opened the fridge and found some bottled water.

“Please, call me Pepper,” she replied, still watching him closely as he sat down with his bottle and some leftover pizza he found in the fridge. He immediately began to wolf it down.

Clint mumbled something, but it was lost as he hardly took a breath to stop eating.

* * *

 

Down in the labs, Tony and Bruce worked through all the tests they could think of and studied the printouts intently, trying to spot something.

Tony let out an exasperated yell, throwing his arms in the air. “I dunno. There’s _nothing_ here. Are you sure he didn’t have a concussion?”

“I checked him for one,” Bruce replied, eyes scanning the data before him.

“Well, maybe you missed it. Or maybe it’s some post-traumatic thing. Y’know, he did hit the ground pretty hard when that lab blew up – “

Bruce’s eyes widened. He didn’t hear the rest of what Tony said. His brain was racing with one horrifying thought that just occurred to him.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” he muttered, flying to a machine and typing in some commands with a little more force than necessary. “Oh god, please no,” he continued to beg.

Tony stopped his monologue mid-sentence, glancing curiously at Bruce who had stopped listening to him. He didn’t like what was coming from the other scientist’s mouth. “What?” he asked. “What is it?”

The computer let out a ding when it was finished, and Bruce quickly called up the data. Tony peered over his shoulder.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Bruce said, his face paling.

“Oh shit is right,” Tony agreed. This was very bad indeed.


	3. Nest

Bruce and Tony continued to stare at Clint’s karyotype for several minutes, unable to believe what they were seeing.

“That’s…not good,” Bruce finally whispered.

Tony snorted. “Oh, I don’t know. A couple extra chromosomes never hurt anybody.” But even as he said it, his eyes never left the screen and his face retained a serious, calculating look.

Bruce whirled on him. “A ‘couple extra chromosomes’? How can you think that’s okay! My god, he was in the laboratory explosion! Who the hell knows what could have gotten into his bloodstream! What _did_ get into his bloodstream!” He pointed emphatically at the screen in front of them. “ _And_ it altered his DNA!”

Stark narrowed his eyes. “We don’t even know that’s what we’re dealing with. The man is up and moving and seems to be perfectly fine.”

“Fine? He died, Tony. _Died_. And what else would it be? We just fought some messed up mutants, and he was in close proximity to the lab. The ramifications of that are…” Bruce waved his hands around, searching for the appropriate word.

“JARVIS,” Tony snapped. “Run those tests again. Twice. I want to be _absolutely_ sure that this is what we’re looking at.”

Several minutes later, and they were looking at the same karyotype.

“I’m not a geneticist,” Bruce mused, “but even I know that that is horribly wrong. I just don’t know what it means.”

“JARVIS, what are these?” Tony asked, pointing out the handful of what appeared to be ‘mini chromosomes’ scattered around the regular sized ones.

“They appear to be microchromosomes, sir. They are found only in some cases of Down syndrome, but are more commonly found in birds, fish, reptiles and amphibians.”

Neither man knew what to say to that.

After several moments, Bruce shook his head. “I don’t get it. That’s not _normal_. His DNA should be extremely unstable now. It shouldn’t even _exist_. It should have killed him.”

“He did die on the floor,” Tony pointed out helpfully. Bruce was not impressed.

“And now he’s awake and recovering. It doesn’t make sense.” Bruce passed a hand over his eyes. “He needs to know about this.”

So the two men went in search of the Hawk, and found him in the kitchen in the midst of a four-course meal, surrounded by the rest of the Avengers. Everyone looked up as the two scientists entered.

Bruce looked in shock at Clint, who was clearly ravenous. “Uh, Clint, are you feeling alright?”

He made an incomprehensible sound and Natasha rolled her eyes. “He’s fine enough to eat the entire contents of Stark’s refrigerator. He has an appetite to rival Thor.”

Clint made another sound, and pointed at Natasha meaningfully. She apparently understood, because she just rolled her eyes at him again.

Bruce shot a questioning look at Steve, who seemed to be completely baffled by everything.

“He was walking,” Steve told him. “And talking. He seems to be doing fine.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony interrupted loudly, jumping straight to the point, “we found out what’s wrong with him.”

Everyone stopped moving. Even Clint abandoned his food and fixed his eyes on Tony.

Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yes, well, we took a look at your DNA, Clint.” He shifted uncomfortably. All eyes were on him. “It seems you were in close proximity of the laboratory blast and may have gotten some of the specimens into your bloodstream, because…your DNA is…”

“Screwed up.” Tony, ever so direct.

Clint fixed them with hard eyes, his face carved of stone. Natasha turned to them. “What are you talking about?”

“We looked at Clint’s chromosomes. He has several extra, smaller chromosomes. They’re – what did JARVIS say they were again?”

“Microchromosomes. They are found only in some cases of Down syndrome, but are more commonly found in birds, fish, reptiles and amphibians,” JARVIS dutifully repeated.

“Right, thanks. I’m not a geneticist, so I really don’t know the complications of it all, but I do know that it really should have been fatal to a mammal, to a human being especially.”

Everyone rotated to study Clint, like they were examining some rare exhibit. He kept his eyes glued on Bruce and his face impassive.

“I think,” Bruce suggested, “we should alert Director Fury and he can find someone qualified – “

“No.”

Clint spoke in a low, dangerous voice.

Bruce looked surprised. “We don’t know – “

“No,” Clint repeated, his face revealing nothing. “I refuse to be poked and prodded and turned into some science experiment, locked in a lab.”

No one knew how to argue that. Each conceded that it was a valuable point. The sad fact was that it was the most likely scenario.

Natasha reached over and touched Clint’s arm. He shook his head. “Fury can’t know about this either. He’ll pull me off duty. I can still do my job.” His hands curled into fists and he locked eyes with each Avenger in turn, as if daring them to argue.

JARVIS’ polite interruption ended any discussion. “Sir, Director Fury is on the line.”

Tony waved his hand dismissively. “Tell him I’m not home.”

“He insists, sir.”

With a large exaggerated sigh, Tony said, “Put him on.”

Fury’s voice rang through the room. “I need the Avengers,” he said by way of greeting.

“Where, sir?” asked Steve, already jumping to his feet.

“Several blocks east of the tower. There’s a group of aliens, race unknown, creating all kinds of shit. They’re blowing up everything in site. Put a stop to it, any way necessary.”

“Yes sir,” Steve confirmed and Fury ended the call.

* * *

 

Whatever race of aliens these guys were, Clint thought, they seemed to have military-like training. They didn’t blunder around or shoot wild; they had high-grade weapons and knew how to use them and weren’t afraid to jump into hand-to-hand combat.

Clint shot down as many as he could from atop a rooftop. He called out the stragglers as he went to ensure that his team-mates on the ground knew where the enemy was at all times.

Unfortunately, they got wise to him.

The rooftop door slammed open behind him, and he spun, loosing an arrow in the same second. Without aiming, it slammed into the first alien’s throat, taking him down.

Clint didn’t even wait to see it go down before he sent another arrow flying at the second alien. It buried itself in its chest.

There was still one more, and Clint was already reaching back for another arrow…and grasped air. In the precious seconds it took him to realize he was out of arrows, the third alien was upon him, pointing its weapon at him.

Clint reacted instinctively. His arm shot out, knocking the gun to the side as he lashed out with his foot, delivering a powerful kick to the alien’s face. It reacted in turn, throwing punches that Hawkeye dodged and ducked. He heard the squawk of his comm. come to life in his ear.

“Hawkeye! Come in, Hawkeye!” Rogers shouted.

“Uh, a little busy here,” Clint grunted just as the alien’s fist connected with his face, sending him staggering back a few steps. He unsheathed his knife and dashed forward again. “I’m out of arrows. Engaged in hand-to-hand.”

“Do you need assistance?”

“Negative.” Hawkeye dropped to the ground as the alien’s leg sailed harmlessly over his head. He fell back on his hands and pushed his body out, slamming his boots into the alien’s chest.

The alien recovered faster than Clint expected. It came at him quickly, getting in a few hard blows to Clint’s abdomen before he plunged his knife into its side. The alien howled and jerked away, ripping the knife free. Twirling it expertly in its hand, it rushed him once again.

The blows were fast and calculated. Hawkeye found himself on the defensive, taking several steps back as he blocked each swipe. His uniform and arm guards took most of the damage, but he felt the knife nick him a few times.

Suddenly, the alien broke inside Clint’s defences, slamming its foot into his chest. Clint grunted and stumbled back, straight into the edge of the roof.

He audibly gasped as his back connected with the raised edge, and the alien, obviously sensing that it had cornered its prey, seemed to smile. It kept its foot pressed on Clint’s ribcage, and held the knife to his throat.

“Uh, Rogers,” Clint croaked as his body continued to be shoved up and over the ledge. His hands and feet scrambled for purchase or to get the alien off of him. “How about that backup now?”

The alien seemed to consider Clint falling to his death much more satisfying than cutting his throat, because with a firm push, it shoved Clint the last few inches he needed to fall off the roof.

Gasping, Hawkeye desperately scrambled around in the air, looking for something, _anything_ , to grab a hold of to stop his descent.

There was nothing.

* * *

 

Captain America looked back up at the rooftop, hearing the sounds of Hawkeye’s struggle. He saw the back of the man, leaning precariously backwards over the edge, with an alien looming over him.

“Hawkeye!” he yelled.

A second later and the archer was falling through the sky, unable to stop his fall.

“Stark!” Rogers yelled, knowing he himself would be unable to stop the marksman’s descent.

“On it.” Tony sped towards the falling man, his thrusters on high. Just as he reached him, however, he saw something that made him stop short. “Son of a bitch,” he swore, staring bewildered into the sky. “Please tell me someone else saw that.”


	4. Wings

The other Avengers did see it.

They stared into the sky, watching Iron Man speed towards the falling Clint. They watched as Clint seemed to…shrink. His arms shot out, his body curled inwards, and he continued to fall, spinning head over heels.

And then he disappeared.

And then they watched as wide spread wings burst free from the bundle of clothes, and the regal form of a hawk broke away and took flight. With a mighty cry, the hawk took off into the sky and the empty bundle of clothes fell to the sidewalk in a heap.

It took several moments for anyone to start moving again.

Natasha was the first to snap out of it, running in a full sprint towards the clothes on the sidewalk. Her gun snapped from side to side and all the aliens around her fell dead. She slid to a stop and fell to her knees, desperately clawing at the abandoned clothes. Like she had feared, there was nothing there. It meant what she had seen was _real_. Ice settled in her stomach.

Steve came up beside her, breathing hard and looking completely baffled. He kept looking up to the sky, as if hoping the archer would reappear.

Tony landed beside them, flipping his mask up. “Well that was…interesting.”

Steve swallowed. “I really don’t think that’s the right word.”

Natasha jumped up and whirled on Stark. “What the hell just happened?”

Stark held his palms out defensively. “Calm down! I think that was the genetic modifications and things.”

The Black Widow looked livid. “Calm down? _Calm down?_ ” Her voice rose after every word. “He turned into a _bird_ and flew away!” She shouted, thrusting a finger into the sky for emphasis. She couldn’t believe she was saying it. This was so ridiculous.

“Oh, yeah. How are we going to tell Fury that we lost Bird Boy?”

Natasha lunged at him, looking like she was about ready to rip his throat out. “This isn’t funny, Stark!”

Tony jumped back from the seething assassin. “I don’t know,” he said, unable to keep his mouth shut. “He turned into a hawk. Does anyone else see the irony in that?”

Natasha snarled.

Steve quickly stepped between them. “Alright, alright. Natasha, just…” he waved his arms, clearly looking for words. When he found none, he turned back to Tony. “You’re saying that was the result of the explosion?” Whatever _that_ was. Steve hardly believed his eyes.

Stark rolled his eyes. “You’re pretty slow, Cap. Tell me, how else could Katniss sprout wings and fly away?”

At that moment, Bruce joined the group, tugging on a pair of pants. With the danger abated, Hulk had gone back to sleep. He looked at the group curiously, switching his gaze from each of them back to the pile of clothing. “Uh,” he asked, “What’d I miss?”

“The Hawk’s a hawk,” Tony informed him.

Bruce frowned. “What?”

“Barton turned into a hawk and flew away.” When Bruce still looked confused, Tony flapped his arms for emphasis.

Realization donned on Bruce and they watched his face turn pale. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “I don’t believe it.”

“Join the club,” Rogers muttered.

“What do we do?” Bruce asked.

Before anyone could answer, the comm. squawked in their ears. “Avengers, report,” Hill commanded.

Steve answered. “Situation contained. We’ll need the clean-up team.”

“Medical assistance?” she asked.

Steve looked torn. “Uh – no, but we – “

Tony cut in. “We’re going back to my tower, Agent Hill.”

“You need to report to base for debriefing, Stark.” She didn’t sound amused.

“Yeah, well, sorry. We’re a little tired. So…yeah. I’ll email you a report or call you later. Bye.” And he cut their connection. He turned back to the assembled group with a grin. “Okay, let’s pick up some shawarma, head back, and figure out what the hell to do.”

“No more shawarma, please,” Steve moaned at the same moment that Thor appeared and shouted, “I do enjoy this delicacy!”

* * *

 

They compromised. Tony, Thor and Bruce picked up shawarma while Steve settled on a hamburger. Natasha claimed she wasn’t hungry. She had a set look in her eyes the whole trip, and no one liked seeing it. She never openly said that she was worried about her partner, but it was clear to them. And though the assassins knew that they could handle most things, this was a painfully new situation that they had never encountered. They didn’t know what to do.

So when the guys sat around the living area to eat and discuss science and tactics and what the heck they were going to do about Barton, Natasha silently slipped out to the roof. Clint’s favourite perch.

Bruce noticed and looked sadly down at his food. “How do we fix this?” he asked. “Maybe we should tell Fury.”

Tony shook his head. “Nuh-uh. That’s why we’re here. We’re _hiding_ from Fury. Clint didn’t want to be a science experiment, and if we tell him now, he will definitely hunt him down.”

Steve set his burger down and sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Well, then we have to find him. Fast.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “Will he change back? Is it permanent?”

Tony and Bruce shared a look. “Uh…” answered Tony. They clearly didn’t know.

Outside on the roof, Natasha sat on the edge of the roof, examining the city below her. She had come out here to clear her head and think, but also because it admittedly was her partner’s favourite place to be.

She rested her chin on her fist, gazing at the twinkling lights. How had everything become so screwed up so fast? She never would have thought that that laboratory explosion would have led to this.

She spent several quiet minutes alone, just watching the city, before a dark shape caught her eye. She was immediately on alert, hand reaching for her gun. A small, dark shape was moving in the sky…it was flying, and it was headed for her.

Her gun was drawn before she suddenly realized what that shape was, and so she quickly shoved the gun back into her holster. She watched in amazement as the dark shape became clearer and clearer, before a hawk – Clint, she reasoned – settled down on the ledge of the roof, several feet from her.

The hawk tipped his head, gazing at her from watchful eyes. He didn’t appear too concerned that he had landed beside a human. Natasha wondered how much of Barton was in the hawk.

“Clint?” she asked softly. The bird stared at her. Slowly, she stood up and took a few measured steps forward. The hawk ruffled his feathers, making her halt, but he didn’t move. “Hey, Clint. It’s Natasha,” she spoke again, in what she hoped was a non-threatening, soothing voice. On a whim, she held out her arm as a perch, like she’d seen them do in falconry.

The hawk blinked at her.

She stepped a little closer, holding her arm a little further out. “C’mon, Clint. C’mon, it’s okay.” He shuffled on his feet a little, twisted his head inquisitively, then spread his wings and leaped onto her arm.

She was thrown completely off guard. She stumbled back a step and let out a quiet gasp as his talons dug into her unprotected arm, finding his purchase. But he didn’t move.

Natasha viewed him with wide eyes as he stared back, before lifting her other hand and gently stroking his neck with the knuckle of her finger. She was still slightly surprised when he seemed to lean into it. Maybe there was some Barton in there after all, she thought, as she looked directly into his intelligent eyes.

She couldn’t help it. She smiled. “Alright, let’s get you inside,” she said, and headed towards the roof door. He was very nervous about leaving the roof, but she kept whispering to him and petting him. The trek down to the living room where the rest of the Avengers were gathered was hard, but she made it there eventually.

Clint stirred on her arm when the voices became clearer. They were just around the corner, and could hear Tony loud and clear, obviously in the middle of some heated debate.

“Hey, guys,” Natasha called, trying to keep her voice low so as not to frighten Clint. The voices in the room quieted as she turned the corner, and they all stared at her, open-mouthed and stunned. Clint shifted uncomfortably and tightened his grip on her arm. She spoke reassuringly to him as she stopped at the edge of the room.

Tony made to leap from the couch but Natasha shot him a deadly look. “Don’t move. He’s quite skittish.”

Bruce stared in astonishment. “How did you -?”

“He landed on the roof,” she replied. “I think Clint is in there somewhere. He must be. He doesn’t seem to be too afraid of me.” She looked over at them. “Will he change back?”

“We don’t know,” Tony answered, staring intently at the hawk, who shifted his position on Natasha’s arm.

“He’s a Red Tailed Hawk,” Steve pointed out. Everyone turned to look at him. He blushed and looked sheepish. “I know a few things about birds.”

Tony opened his mouth to most likely make a smart remark, but before he could say anything, Barton, still perched on Natasha’s arm, let out a loud cry and took off.

Natasha clenched her teeth and grabbed her arm as soon as he took off. His sudden flight had dug new scratches into her arm and now most of them were bleeding freely.

Madness ensued in the room.

Barton flew haphazardly around the room as the Avengers scattered and scrambled to get out of his way. His flight seemed to be declining and he was having trouble staying airborne. Seconds later he fell to the ground, hopping across the carpet.

Then, with one more shriek, his head dipped, and his arms spread out, proceeding to grow. Feathers were shed as the hawk grew and morphed back into human form, and seconds later, Clint Barton lay on the ground, unconscious.


	5. Perch

Forgetting about her injured arm, Natasha dropped next to her partner. “Clint? Clint!” she called, tapping his face gently. He was unresponsive. His chest rose and fell evenly, and the muscles in his face were relaxed. If she didn’t know any better, she would have assumed he was just sleeping peacefully.

She looked up as Bruce thoughtfully placed a blanket over Clint’s prone, naked form. But sudden movement beneath her brought her head whipping back to her friend.

Barton began to stir, slowly at first, before his arms shot out and his eyes snapped open. With a loud gasp, he jumped to a seated position, wild and unseeing eyes scanning the room.

Natasha grabbed his hands, partly to ground him, but more to keep him from striking her. “Clint! Clint! Look at me! It’s Natasha. You’re okay. Just calm down.”

His eyes locked onto hers, and he let out a deep breath. The tension drained from his body as he slowly came back to the real world.

Natasha kept her hold on him. “Okay? Are you alright?” She eyed him carefully as he nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks,” he whispered. Then his brain caught up with him and he took in his surroundings, fearful eyes darting from the Avengers standing over him, concern on their faces, to his position on the floor. He paled. “Nat,” he began, dread building in his stomach. “What happened? Why am I naked?”

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but Bruce stepped in front of him. Barton certainly didn’t need Stark’s insensitivity at the moment. “Clint, what do you remember?”

Frustration began to creep in and take over the dread. Why did he always end up like this? With everyone standing around him, knowing things that he didn’t? And asking him what he could remember? His hands curled into fists. “The aliens. We were fighting aliens a couple blocks over.”

Bruce nodded, silently encouraging him to continue.

Clint frowned. “I was on the roof. One of the aliens fought with me. He…” he trailed off for a minute, before looking shocked. “He pushed me off the roof! Jesus Christ!” His head whipped around, trying to look for an answer. “Did I fall? What the hell happened?”

“You don’t remember anything after that?” Bruce pushed.

“No!” Anger started to follow the frustration. “Tell me what the hell happened! Did I fall? What the hell happened to my clothes?”

“Clint,” Natasha said calmly, drawing his fiery eyes back to her. “You turned into a hawk.”

Perhaps it wasn’t the most sensitive way to tell him, but there was no way to beat around the bush.

Clint blinked several times. “What?”

“That mutant blood that got into your system and messed with your DNA?” Tony offered helpfully, stepping away from Bruce. “Yeah, we think it did that.”

Barton dragged a hand through his hair, looking extremely lost. “Does Fury know?”

“No one knows,” Natasha told him.

Clint nodded a few times, and then asked, “Where are my clothes?” Natasha handed them to him, and without a word he stood up, wrapped the blanket around himself, and disappeared down the hallway.

When he was gone, Tony blew out a breath and clapped his hands together. “He took that well.” He ignored the glare Natasha sent his way.

Rogers scowled. “And how did you expect him to take it, Stark? Did you think he was going to be ecstatic and jump for joy?”

For once, Tony had nothing to say, probably because he was so surprised that Steve had actually used sarcasm.

Natasha fixed them all with a withering look before stalking off after her partner.

She found him on the roof, fully clothed, looking completely lost and miserable. She sat down beside him and he didn’t even move a muscle. She didn’t speak as she dangled her legs over the edge and watched the city move below her; she let a calm silence pass between them, and felt Clint’s anxiety slowly melt away.

Clint sat stiffly beside his friend and partner, thoughts and ideas running through his head at great speed. He was confused and scared and angry and frustrated. He didn’t know what to think. His body apparently had decided to take on a mind of its own, and forget to consult him. Again, he felt control slipping from between his fingers. He hadn’t asked for this! Why had this happened to him?

He was grateful for Natasha’s presence beside him. She was calm and supportive. She didn’t need to say anything. She knew what he was thinking and she was going to be by his side no matter what. She would support him and protect him every step of the way.

The peaceful silence was broken as JARVIS’ voice came over the speaker. “Agents Barton and Romanoff, Director Fury is on the line and wishes to speak with the Avengers.”

Natasha sighed. “Thanks, JARVIS. We’ll be right down.” She got to her feet and held her hand out to Clint. He took it and she helped him up, offering him a small smile as they went to speak to Fury.

* * *

 

“Where the hell do you get off, Stark?” Were Fury’s first words, as his holographic form stared them all down menacingly from one eye. “I gave you strict instructions to report back to base to be debriefed.

Stark smirked and rocked back and forth on his feet, unperturbed. “You know I don’t like following orders, Fury.”

Fury growled, then swivelled to glare at Barton and Romanoff. “You,” he ground out. “No excuse from you. You know to report in, Agents.”

Clint said nothing, keeping his back straight and his eyes trained just above Fury. Natasha nodded stiffly, her face betraying nothing. “Yes, Director. We’re sorry.”

He snorted. “Sorry.” He cast another look at them all, taking in their weary appearances. Something in him deflated a little. “I want each of your reports on my desk by 0900 hours tomorrow. No exceptions.” The screen blinked out.

Stark moved to the bar and pulled down several glasses, pouring scotch into each one. “He really needs to do something about that stick up his ass.” He picked up a glass and downed it. “A massage, maybe? Yoga?” he mused as he refilled his glass.

Barton grabbed the next available glass, tossing it back. The warm liquid oozing down his throat felt wonderful. “We’re in serious shit,” he pointed out. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Tony shrugged. “Meh.”

Clint poured himself another glass and drank it in one go. All the horrible feelings inside were starting to drift away.

Bruce approached him at the bar. “How are you doing?” he asked gently. His question broached his mental as well as his physical state.

“You tell me, doc,” was his response as he downed another glass. “I have no freaking idea what’s happening to my body.”

Bruce fiddled nervously with his glasses. “Unfortunately, Clint, I don’t have any answers. I’m sorry.”

Clint’s face creased with a frown.

“If you want some good news,” Bruce added, “I think that you only got infected with a small dose, which is the reason why you can have two full forms. Not half human, half hawk. I think you’re extremely lucky.”

Clint scoffed. “Lucky.”

Steve regarded him curiously, his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you remember anything when you, ah…were a hawk?”

Clint shut his eyes and shook his head. “Um,” he said, trying to think. “Not much. Maybe some flashes. I do recall a feeling of flying.” His eyes snapped open and he turned to Natasha. “And…I remember you,” he said.

She gave him a half smile. “You landed next to me on the roof. You actually perched on my arm.”

Thor, who had been relatively silent for a while, spoke up. “Archer,” he boomed, his brow furrowed, “how was it that you changed forms? Does it require conscious thought? Or is it equal to the Doctor’s beast, in which an emotion must be felt?”

Everyone swivelled to observe Thor. No one had actually considered that.

Barton blinked for several seconds. “Good question, Thor. Um, I don’t know.” He traded glances with the other Avengers. “I was falling off a roof. Fear, maybe?” He shrugged.

Tony’s face lit up. “I say we conduct some experiments. What do you say, Bruce?” he asked much too gleefully.

“I don’t think so, Tony,” Bruce admonished, shaking his head. No good could come from Tony wanting to experiment on Clint.

“Oh, c’mon!” Tony cried. “We have to figure out what makes him Hawk out!”

Clint actually cracked a genuine smile at that. “’Hawk out’?” He repeated. Stark just grinned with self-satisfaction.

* * *

 

Over the next few weeks, Tony conducted dozens of experiments on Clint. Bruce, despite his earlier protests, stepped in and assisted, if only to make sure that Tony kept the experiments humane.

The tests started out simple. Tony had Clint wear a set of headphones, and then played differing sounds of volume and frequency. When that did not bring about a change, he tried physical triggers. This included poking Clint with pointy objects, which steadily increased to prodding him with a low voltage.

Bruce had stepped up when Tony had declared that he was going to try electricity, but Clint and Tony waved away his concerns, saying that the volts were going to be low and that they really wanted to see the outcome.

When jolts of electricity elicited no reaction, the two moved on to physical exertion. Clint ran a series of laps and exercise drills – normal, for his usual workout standards – and Tony and Bruce kept track of his blood pressure and breathing.

Even when Clint had sweat dripping down his face and had to stop for a moment to catch his breath, he admitted that he didn’t feel any different.

Bruce frowned at his readings. “That’s our highest recording. I doubt you were expending that much energy when you first transformed.”

Clint took a large swig from his water bottle. “Well, my theory is fear. But it’s sort of hard to replicate that, isn’t it?”

Tony snapped his fingers. “That’s it!” He turned to Clint, who regarded him warily. “You were falling off a building, yes?”

“Tony…” Bruce warned.

But Clint just frowned thoughtfully. “We haven’t tried that yet.”

Bruce stared at them in open-mouthed shock. “You can’t be serious!” he cried. “You’re going to jump off a building?”

Clint shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I do it all the time. The tower should be high enough.” He turned to Tony. “Do you have a parachute?” The two then walked off to prepare for their latest idiotic scheme.

* * *

 

“This is madness,” Thor declared solemnly.

Everyone was gathered on the roof of the Avengers Tower, watching as Clint double-checked and adjusted his parachute. No one disagreed with Thor’s statement.

“Relax,” Tony called to them. “Bird boy knows what he’s doing, and I have the suit just in case.” He tapped his chest for emphasis. “And anyway, if this works, we won’t need either.”

“Right,” Steve muttered, not looking at all confident.

The rest watched silently as Clint nodded to Tony, walked to the edge of the building, and jumped.

* * *

 

Barton sat on the floor in the middle of his room, his eyes shut, lost in deep concentration. A sudden knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts, and he stood to answer it.

Natasha stood there, leaning against the doorframe. “Still can’t do it?” she asked softly.

Clint sighed. “No. It’s weird.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I’ve been trying for the past half hour, just trying to _think_ about it.” He shook his head. “It hasn’t worked.”

“Maybe you need a break,” Natasha suggested.

Immediately, Clint shook off the idea. “No, no. It’s – “ he searched around for the right words. “It’s just, so wrong, y’know? It shouldn’t even be able to happen, but it does. And I _want_ to change. There’s something about being a hawk that I crave. Like an addiction.”

Natasha’s eyes were sad as she listened. It was several long moments before she nodded. “Okay,” she said softly. “Okay. You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Clint sighed loudly and massaged his temples.

* * *

 

Clint took a deep breath. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that the bright lights of the gym were actually spotlights shining down on him, and that the whir of the air circulating was actually the excited hush of the crowd.

He flexed his feet, taking comfort in the feel of the rough wood beneath him. Then, he opened his eyes and took his first step out across the tightrope he’d strung for himself.

Not many things in his life scared him as much as walking the tightrope did. It never used to scare him. It was such an integrated part of his life, something he performed every day in the circus for years without much thought or effort. But ever since that fateful day, it had become something horrifying. The last time he had stepped out on one it hadn’t ended well. But now it was as much as testing himself for traces of the hawk as it was dealing with unfinished business. He had promised himself that one day he would complete the walk across.

With his bow grasped firmly in his hands, he began the journey across and found himself slipping back into his old persona. It was like riding a bicycle; you never seemed to forget. He didn’t dare try to get fancy and start his old showman tricks and acrobatics – he wanted only to try one thing at a time. But when he touched the other end, a wide smile broke out on his face. The rush of adrenaline he always felt came soaring back, and he realized just how much he’d missed doing that. However, he was pulled from his thoughts when the sound of someone clapping made him spin around.

Steve stood on the floor of the gym, regarding him with awe. “That sure was something,” he remarked.

Clint flashed him a grin before making his way down – and this time he threw in a few flips for Steve’s benefit.

“Where in the world did you learn how to do that?” Rogers asked curiously, following Clint as he walked to the bench to retrieve his towel.

Barton paused a moment as he ran the towel over his face. It only took him a few moments before he decided to divulge a portion of his past to the Captain. “Ever thought, as a kid that you were going to run away and join the circus?”

Steve frowned. “Yeah, sure. Probably. I mean, what kid doesn’t?”

Clint smirked. “Well, I actually did.” He prided himself on his ability to make Steve look like a fish out of water.

“You – seriously?” he managed.

Clint chuckled. “Yeah, Cap. It’s also where they taught me how to use a bow. Called me The Amazing Hawkeye.”

Steve nodded. He cast a glance back at the makeshift tightrope above them. “You performed on that?” He turned back in time to see Clint’s face fall.

“Yeah.” He turned his back on Steve and grabbed a clean shirt from his bag. “I haven’t done it in years. The last time I was on the tightrope…” he trailed off as he tugged his sweaty shirt off and pulled the new one on. “A friend – well, I thought he was my friend – cut the rope. That was my last day in the circus.” With that, he picked up his bag and left a stunned Steve behind.


	6. Feathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading, and anyone who has left a review!

There was no way he was going to make it out of this one, Clint knew. He tossed another look over his shoulder, only to have his fears confirmed. The oversized cat was gaining on him.

He dodged in and out of trees, but he knew it was only a matter of time before it caught up to him. He unsheathed his knife and gripped it reassuringly. When the time came, he knew it would come down to his agility.

He tapped his communicator again. “Anyone,“ he huffed, taking a sharp left, “wanna help me out here?”

“I am on my way, Hawk,” Thor boomed in his ear, but Clint never had the chance to respond.

He never saw the giant paw as it swept towards him, landing a solid punch to his midsection, and sending him sailing through the air. He narrowly missed a tree, but still hit the ground at top speed and continued to roll for several feet. When he stopped, he lay there groaning. Surely most of his ribs were at least bruised, if not broken, and his side probably looked like he’d been run over by a lawnmower.

He breathed heavily, immobile on the ground, and watched hopelessly as the cat stalked toward its fallen prey.

And that’s when he felt it.

It was a slight tingling sensation, beginning in his fingertips. Clint’s first thought was that he was having a heart attack, but he quickly discounted it as he recognized the sensation. It was one he was starting to count as familiar to him.

The tingling spread from his fingers and up his arms, traveling through his body. He knew what was coming, and so he did nothing against it. Instead, he embraced the sensation and the coming transition.

The transition this time was easier, he recalled. It was getting easier every time, and each time he gained a little more control than he had before. He figured, soon enough, that he would be able to change on command. And from talking to the other Avengers and recalling his time as a hawk (which became steadily easier), he came to realize that he regained more of himself when he changed. With every transition, he could call upon more memories, and always was left with a vague feeling of being in control of his avian body.

So when a bird burst from the tree line and away from the cat, it was more or less Clint Barton than a regular hawk.

Stark glanced up as he heard a sharp cry from above, and watched as the familiar form of the red-tailed hawk circled low above them. “There he goes again,” he muttered amusedly. He watched as the hawk glided regally and perched atop a pile of rubble, so that he was fairly level with the rest of the team. The team had noticed that after Clint had transformed several times – always in battle – he had started to stick around, and wouldn’t fly off immediately only to wander back hours later. If anything else, it eased their minds, knowing where he was and that he wasn’t going to wake up in some random place in the nude.

Natasha walked over to him, dusting her hands on her pants. “Thor got the last one. SHIELD clean up is coming in soon.” She glanced up, making eye contact with Clint. She heaved a sigh. “How long do you s’pose he’ll stay that way this time?”

Tony shrugged. “I just hope he does it fast, before SHIELD gets here. It’s hard enough covering for his ass when he’s off, waiting to change back.”

SHIELD still did not know about Barton’s condition. It had been several months since his first transformation and true to their word, the Avengers had told no one. When Barton was still a hawk when SHIELD arrived on the scenes, he had enough sense to keep at a distance, and the rest would lie and say that Clint was tending to some business or got stuck behind. Then, thirty minutes later, he’d wander back and no one was the wiser.

“C’mon, Clint,” Natasha called up to him. “You need to change back, _right now_.”

He just ruffled his feathers and she could’ve sworn she saw a smirk. She didn’t know how birds could smirk, but she swore this one did.

Steve, Thor and Bruce wandered over, all eyeing Clint, when the first black SHIELD van pulled up. Natasha turned back to Clint and waved her arms, telling him to shoo. He gave a cry and thankfully flew off.

Agent Maria Hill stepped out of the second van on the scene. She jogged over to them. “Avengers?” she asked, looking at each in turn, silently asking if everything went according to plan.

Steve nodded. “Piece of cake, ma’am.”

“I need you all in for debriefing.” She gestured towards the van.

The Avengers just stared at her, some awkwardly shifting on their feet.

She raised an eyebrow. “Fury wants this report ASAP.” She pointed again towards the van, before her brow furrowed in realization. “Where’s Hawkeye?”

“He’s collecting arrows,” Natasha answered.

Hill frowned but nodded.

“We shouldn’t wait for him. He said some were deep inside the forest. And Fury doesn’t want to wait.” Natasha continued. Stark shot her a funny look.

Maria let out a breath. “Well, alright, I suppose. I’ll leave a van for him here. Let’s go.” She led the superhero team back. All the while, the rest were looking around and hoping that Barton had already changed back and would make it back with them. They had no such luck.

When they were seated around the table on base and awaiting Director Fury, they started to get anxious.

“Damn, I hope he hurries up,” Tony muttered, swivelling in his chair.

Bruce ran his hands through his already dishevelled hair, looking strained. “This is it,” he said. “If he doesn’t get here soon, we’re screwed.”

Tony spun and fixed him with a look. “Well, look at you, Mr. Negativity.”

Bruce just frowned at him.

Steve was cut off from retorting when he heard a noise coming from outside. He spun around, stiffening at what he saw.

“What the hell is he doing?” Stark cried, watching the Hawk flapping in front of the large window, before perching on the small ledge and tapping the glass with his beak.

“боже мой,” Natasha muttered, dashing towards the window. She threw the latch off the window and slid it open, stretching her arm out. But she wasn’t close enough to the ledge, and Clint was making no effort to jump. She growled and tried to wriggle out further, but Steve grabbed her waist, fearing she was going to fall.

“Let me,” he insisted, and she grudgingly slid back inside.

The others watched as the taller man leaned out the window and offered his arm. Clint obediently climbed on it and allowed himself to be pulled inside.

After Clint’s first transformation, Stark and Banner had worked on adjustments to Natasha and Steve’s suits, reinforcing the material around the arms and the shoulders to accommodate Clint’s talons. He made it so that he couldn’t scratch them and even threw in Kevlar for extra security. Barton enjoyed sitting on Steve’s shoulder, and he promptly jumped up once they were safely in the room.

Tony had remained seated in his chair the entire time. He looked bewildered. “And why did we let him in? How the hell do we hide him now?”

Natasha glared at him. “He wanted to come in. He never Hawks out for long, what if he did it right there? He’d fall to his death.”

Stark pointed a finger at her. “Well now we’re just asking – “ he abruptly stopped when the door slid back open and the Director walked through.

The Director immediately noticed the bird on Steve’s shoulder, even though the Captain tried to turn to hide him. “What the hell is this?” he barked, his one eye blazing.

“That’s my pet,” Stark piped up. Fury stared him down, not believing for a second that Stark was telling the truth.

Fury cast another glance around, frowning. “And where’s Agent Barton?” When he was met by silence, he eyed each of the Avengers. They were looking everywhere but at the hawk perched on Rogers’ shoulder. He turned back to the bird, and something clicked.

“No,” he said, disbelief colouring his tone. No one spoke. No one told him he was way off base. “You’re shitting me.” He stepped menacingly toward Rogers, who stood ramrod straight and fixed his eyes over Fury’s shoulder. “Tell me what the hell is going on here,” he growled.

The Captain swallowed. “Agent Barton…is a hawk, sir.”

Fury tipped his head. “Yeah, I got that,” he said sarcastically. “I want to know how this happened.” He turned his glare on Romanoff.

“It happened six months ago, at Dr. Chandler’s lab, when we were called out to get rid of him and his rabid mutants.” Natasha paused, drawing in a deep breath. “Hawkeye was in the building when it blew. Initially, he was fine, but then he got sick – “

“He died,” Tony cut in. “On my kitchen floor.”

“ – But when he woke up,” Natasha continued, shooting Tony a glare, “He was completely fine. He had no lasting symptoms, and we couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. Then Dr. Banner and Stark discovered that something had happened to his DNA, but we didn’t know what it meant.”

“Some of the mutant blood from the laboratory got into him,” Fury concluded.

Natasha nodded. “Yes, sir. We didn’t know how it affected him until the next day when we were called out again. He fell off the roof and then…just transformed.” She nodded towards the hawk that was still sitting contentedly on Steve’s shoulder.

Fury rubbed his forehead, as if warding off a headache. “Let me get this straight. Barton can change back and forth.” The others nodded. “So why isn’t he Barton now?”

“Oh, he is Barton,” Tony argued. “We figure since his first transformation he’s gained more control when he’s in this form. He’s more human than hawk.”

“Then why isn’t he human now? He’s obviously able to change back, or I would have known before now.”

Banner shrugged. “We really don’t know how it works. We haven’t been able to figure out why he changes. We tried everything. He can’t do it on command and it only happens in battle. But he never takes this long to change back.”

Everyone looked to Clint, who flapped his wings, nearly smacking Steve in the face.

Fury stepped in front of Clint. “Barton, I order you to change back, _now_.”

Clint just ruffled his feathers.

“He hasn’t been able to do it on command, sir,” Natasha pointed out.

Fury just sighed and stepped back. “It was worth a try.” He fixed his gaze back on his agent. “And why was I not made aware of this?”

“He didn’t want to be a science experiment,” Bruce told him softly. The words themselves were truthful, but coming from Dr. Banner they seemed to carry a heavier weight.

Fury nodded curtly. “I see,” he said. He didn’t sound as angry as they had thought he would be, only tired and resigned. “Tell him to come to my office when he…” he waved his hand in the air, unable to find the appropriate word. Then he turned around and strode towards the door.

Just then, however, Barton took off from Steve’s shoulder and flew towards the ceiling, circling the room, before landing in the corner. He hopped for several steps to regain his footing, before promptly shedding his feathers and growing back into a man. Fury stared at him, his face an emotionless mask, although inside he was stunned (except he figured that nothing should surprise him anymore). None of the Avengers so much as blinked, and Bruce tossed a set of clothes that he kept with him towards Clint.

Clint caught the clothes, muttered a ‘thanks’, and quickly slipped them on, before getting to his feet. “Directory Fury,” he greeted as if nothing strange at all had happened.

Fury regarded his agent for several long seconds before saying, “Barton, with me,” and stormed out of the room. Barton quickly followed him through the hallways and into his private office.

Clint remained standing by the door while Fury moved around to the other side of his desk where he sat down, rested his elbows on the desk and regarded his agent over his fingers.

“Agent Barton,” Fury began, his gaze never wavering, “the others have briefed me on the situation – “

“I know,” Clint cut in. When Fury raised an eyebrow, he explained, “I could hear it all. I knew what was going on.”

Fury leaned back in his chair, the leather of his jacket creaking. “I see.”

He thought for a minute and Clint tried not to squirm in the oppressive silence. He waited for the axe to drop. But the silence stretched on and Barton had to speak his mind. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to be a science experiment. I will not be locked up and poked and prodded.” His hands curled into fists at his sides and he tried to work on controlling his emotions. It wouldn’t solve anything if he ended up shouting at the director.

“Dr. Banner said as much,” Fury replied calmly, still watching his agent. “How much control do you have over this?”

“Enough,” Clint replied. “Enough that if I don’t want it to happen, it doesn’t. I can’t yet willingly change, but I still retain all my cognitive functions when I’m a hawk.”

The Director nodded. “Okay,” he said.

Clint blinked at him, unsure if he had heard him right. “Sir?”

“Barton,” Fury began as he leaned forward, “You work alongside a doctor that turns into the Hulk who smashes everything in sight, and I trust him enough to send him on missions. You turn into a hawk.” He raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t cause any damage and you can still do your job, then I say this doesn’t need to leave this room.”

Clint was stunned for several seconds. “Yes, sir,” he managed, before the Director dismissed him.

“Oh, and Barton?”

Clint turned back around. “Yes, sir?”

Fury smirked. “Clean up your damn feathers.”


	7. Prey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

Barton walked back to the debriefing room in a slight daze. He’d been prepared to be stripped down and yelled at and punished; not this. Though, he supposed that Fury had always gone to bat for him. He’d done so since Phil had brought him aboard SHIELD when he was just a rebellious teenager, and continued to do so even after Loki had turned him against them all. Fury had gotten into trouble more than once with the Council for backing him up.

Everyone looked up expectantly as Clint re-entered the room.

“You’re alive,” Stark commented, surprised.

Clint regarded them all with slightly wide eyes. “He’s not even going to put it on my file,” he told them.

Stark leapt from his seat. “Wonderful. Now, let’s get the hell back to the Tower. I don’t know about any of you, but I am _starving_.” He dashed out the door without waiting for anyone else.

Steve shot an exasperated look towards Tony’s retreating back, but followed him out.

Clint frowned and rested a hand on his stomach. “I’m pretty hungry too. Do you always get this hungry after you change back, Bruce?” he asked the doctor, who looked at him in surprise. Clint had begun to divert his questions about his transformation to Banner because he was the only other one who knew what it was like to become something else. Even though their situations were like black and white, Clint didn’t see the harm in trying to gather as much information as he could.

Bruce fiddled with his glasses. “I-I guess so. I don’t really think about it.”

“Hmm.” Clint followed the rest of them out of the room and towards the garage where a SHIELD quinjet was waiting to take them back to the Tower. When they got in, Tony was already on his phone, making arrangements to have food delivered so that it would be there when they got home.

“Sweet,” he muttered, lowering the phone from his ear. “I’ve got thirty-two dishes of Chinese on the way. That should satisfy all of you who have super eating powers…” he broke off and frowned at his phone. “Oh, no.” He lifted it back to his ear and said in a falsely cheery voice, “Hey, Pep!”

The team listened in amusement as Tony tried to calm his girlfriend down. The conversation consisted of a lot of “I’m fine, Pepper. Honestly.” And “I know, I didn’t call. We had…things.”

They landed on the roof of the Tower soon after, and Pepper came barrelling towards them, enveloping Tony in a crushing hug. Even so, afterwards she made sure the rest of the team was safe, and said so in as many words. Then she turned around and ushered them inside.

The food was all laid out on the table, and the team immediately dropped into their seats and dug in. Pepper continued to interrogate Tony, and he answered in short sentences in between bites.

The entire scene was surreal, Clint thought. The meal, the camaraderie, the bantering and the trading of jokes and light insults with this group was something Clint figured he’d never get used to.

He shook his head and grinned behind his drink as Natasha waved her fork threateningly at the billionaire after he’d said something fairly embarrassing to a now blushing Steve. Natasha had been immediately drawn to the soldier, and often took pity on him when he was lost in the new world or when Stark was picking on him.

Thor, from his seat beside Bruce, was regaling the scientist with stories from home, complete with over-emphasized arm movements, and Bruce ducked several potential headshots with a smile.

They had won the battle again today. There had been no casualties. Clint still had a job, and his friends – his _friends_ – had stood up for him. Again. He didn’t think he could ever get used to that notion.

He thought that for sure when they had discovered that something was wrong with him, that his DNA had been horribly mutated, that no one would want to be around him. He thought that they would want nothing to do with him. But they had stayed. They had even kept it a secret, when they really shouldn’t have. And then he had become a hawk, and he _for sure_ thought that they would drop him. He was a freak after all, right? They continued to surprise him. No one seemed to even bat an eye by the events that unfolded. Were they so immerged in the impossible and unseemly that nothing could faze them anymore? Maybe so, because all that the Avengers had done was hide Clint and his infliction further, and attempt to help him adjust. No running away involved.

He was still truly baffled by it all, but as he looked around the table at the shining, laughing faces of his team, he realized that maybe he didn’t have to understand any of it. What was to really understand? They were all freaks, in a sense. And he was a part of this crazy, messed up, dysfunctional team that could almost be called a family, and perhaps that was all there was to it.

Clint figured that there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

* * *

 

Night had settled in New York and though there was a biting wind, Clint was perched on the roof as was his customary habit.

The air ruffled his light jacket and sent a chill through him, but he made no move to step inside. He enjoyed this weather, and he enjoyed sitting out at night, just watching the nightlife below him.

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t sleep. He just didn’t want to. There was still too much going through his mind that he had to process and come to terms with that he doubted he would have much luck if he did try to sleep.

The creaking of the roof door drew him from his thoughts. He always came up here alone, and other than Natasha, he didn’t think that anyone else knew he came up here. Either that, or no one else had any reason to venture to the roof. But as he turned to see his newcomer, he realized with great surprise that it was actually Thor, and by the way that the god headed straight for Barton, he had not come up to the roof for the view.

Barton really didn’t know what to make of Thor. The first time he’d seen him was in New Mexico, but Thor had not seen Clint, and the two had only met briefly amidst the battle in New York nine months ago. They still had yet to be properly acquainted.

Clint honestly liked the displaced demi-god. He wasn’t kidding when he’d told Coulson that he was starting to root for the blonde man, even when he was kicking all of the agents’ asses. Or maybe that _was_ the reason he’d liked him. Despite not knowing him very well, Clint could immediately tell that Thor was open, honest, caring, and honest-to-god genuine. He spoke his mind no matter what, and Clint respected and craved that. It wasn’t often in his line of work that he came across someone who was always willing to speak the truth and would never lie to you.

However, as always, seeing Thor made a knot twist in Clint’s stomach, because the god of thunder never failed to bring a harsh reminder of Loki, and Clint did not want to delve into those memories. So while he wanted to get to know Thor and enjoyed the little time he’d spent with him, it also caused his emotions to clash and rock like a ship in a violent storm.

Thor slowed as he approached the agent, obvious discomfort and anxiety displayed on his face and the twitch of his lips. “Clint Barton,” he rumbled in his deep voice, “I would have words with you.”

Clint eyed Thor with undisguised surprise. He spoke calmly, but his words seemed to be weighed down, like they were literally heavy by what he had to say. “Yeah, sure buddy. What’s up?”

Thor heaved a giant breath. “We have not yet had a chance to speak since the events that transpired,” he began, and his eyes grew dark and troubled. “And while I know that you feel ill towards me, I hope that we can still become friends, for I consider you a brother. Whatever I can do to help, to ease your mind – “

“Whoa,” Clint held up a hand to stop Thor’s tirade, his mouth dropping open in shock. “Hang on there, Thor. I –“ He stopped and ran a rough hand down his face. _Jesus_ , he thought. “I don’t hate you, Thor,” he insisted. When Thor still looked confused, he repeated it with more force. “Honestly, I really don’t.”

A small smile broke onto Thor’s serious face. “That is soothing to hear, I admit. I know that my brother’s actions have greatly affected you, and though you may not be able to accept it, please listen as I say that I truly apologize.” He once again became sombre, and reached out and laid his hands on Clint’s shoulders. Clint was shocked. No one ever did that. “It may not mean anything, but I truly, wholly, apologize for what has happened.”

“Thor, you don’t need to apologize,” Clint insisted. “It wasn’t your fault, any of it. I don’t blame you. Honestly, I understand.” He sighed. “I…I get it. I know what that’s like. I have a brother and…we don’t speak. He…did something and…and he turned his back on me.”

Thor listened in the darkness to the archer’s confession. As little as he knew about the man, he did know that he was not one to admit just anyone into his confidence. Thor was honoured to be allowed a small glimpse into his life, but he was also saddened, for it did not seem like a happy memory. His friend’s sad eyes and the rough edge to his words spoke of the story more than his words did. He nodded, squeezing his shoulder in understanding. “You are a noble and strong man, Hawk,” he said. “I admire that.” His words earned a small smile from the young man, but Thor knew it was the first real smile he’d seen on the man.

* * *

Two weeks passed by in relative peace. No alien attacks, no attempted assassinations, no world domination plots. In fact, it was so peaceful, that the Avengers nearly died from boredom and cabin fever. By the end of the two weeks they were almost pleading for someone or something to attack.

After the first week, Thor left for Asgard. He claimed that his father needed him for business, but he promised to return should they need him. The next week, Fury called them at two in the morning. And if there was one thing Clint hated more than a call from Fury at two in the morning, it was dealing with a cranky Stark at two in the morning. He was privileged to experience both.

Stark was still muttering scathing remarks as Fury’s holograph was displayed on the wall. “Do you know what time it is?” he demanded from the Director. “I was having the most _wonderful_ dream.”

“There’s a convoy coming from Mexico,” Fury began without any preamble, cutting into Tony’s rant. “And they’re not planning on a tea party. They have enough explosives and weaponry to take over a small country. Our intel says they’re mercenaries who’ve been in contact with some surviving HYDRA cells. Those weapons cannot fall into the wrong hands. Stark,” he addressed the inventor, “I want you to disable and stabilize the explosives. Banner, this situation is delicate. You will stay in the helicopter until notified otherwise.”

The Avengers donned their suits and headed to the roof to board the helicopter. The ride wasn’t long, and as they approached the supposed base of the few leftover HYDRA agents, Tony pulled a small tablet from his pocket and frowned at the readings he received. “JARVIS, magnify,” he ordered. “Heat sensors.” He swore loudly at what he saw. “Jesus Christ.”

Rogers caught the tablet thrown his way. He squinted at it for a moment before he realized just what he was looking at. His face darkened and he handed the tablet over to the assassins. “Looks like Fury’s intel was lacking. This changes everything. That truck has too many small, cramped heat signatures to be soldiers.”

Banner caught his eye. “Human trafficking.” It was like a rock had lodged in his throat.

Captain America nodded stiffly. “Here’s what we do: Banner, you will need to remain in the helicopter. We’ll set you up with communications. Stark, you and I are going after the explosives. Barton, Romanoff, the two of you are responsible for getting the children out.” Everyone nodded in agreement and as the helicopter lightly touched the ground, they jumped out before the aircraft rose back to the sky.

The four made their way towards the compound. The security was quite lax, as the HYDRA base was still in its early stages and lacking in soldiers.

Hawkeye and Black Widow crept around one corner, and with the flick of his wrist, Barton signalled to his partner to slip around the corner. Only two guards stood between them and the container where the children were being kept. They were quickly dispatched and the pair moved on.

Both trained their weapons on the container door as they approached from either side. Barton counted down on his fingers, and when he reached one, he reached out, grasped the handle, and opened the door.

The pair moved forward and were met with a dozen machine guns pointed at them.

Meanwhile, Captain America and Iron Man moved less swiftly, but no less efficiently, taking out the guards as they approached. It wasn’t long before they found the entrance to the storage room where the explosives were being held.

The two slipped inside, and Rogers locked the door behind him. Stark flipped the mask of his suit up and surveyed the mass before him. He clapped his two gauntlets together. “All right, let’s get rid of these babies.” He took two steps forward when an alarm began to wail, and red lights flashed on the walls. He froze. “The hell - ?” He raised an arm and his repulsors whined as they charged.

Steve jumped forward, his arm raised, just as the door opened and men with more weapons charged in. “Stark, the explosives – “

Stark didn’t hear. He let off a shot, clearing a hole in the charging mass, and simultaneously setting off a few of the explosives near the door. The door exploded in fire and flames, and sent the two Avengers tumbling and sliding to the back of the room.

Coughing and sputtering, Rogers rolled over, pushing through the broken glass scattered around his body. “Stark,” he called. His palms sliced open on a few sharp shards as he pushed himself to his knees. “Stark – “ he stopped as he looked straight into the muzzle of a gun.

The man behind it chuckled darkly. “Hello, _mon Capitan_ ,” he said in a thick Spanish accent. “Fancy meeting you here.” With a flick of his head, two of his henchman pulled Rogers to his feet. A few steps away, Stark was being roughly handled, several guns pointed at his uncovered face to make sure he didn’t try anything.

There was more shouting in the hallway, and Rogers turned, his heart sinking as the Black Widow and Hawkeye were marched in, hands on their heads and guns sharp in their back.

The Spaniard clapped his hands in glee. “Oh, look at this. Four out of six Avengers.” He turned, grinning back to the Captain. “Good for my first try, no?”

“Who the hell are you?” Stark snapped.

“Louis Artego,” the man answered. He gestured to the room around them. “And this is my playground. The HYDRA men were just giving it away. And I needed someplace to put my toys.” He hummed. “I did not expect to have company, however.” He shrugged. “Oh, well, I am adaptable, if nothing else.” He approached the super soldier, white teeth flashing against his dark skin. “Mm, Captain America and the Invincible Iron Man. This is good catch, no?” He turned back to the glaring assassins. “You? I do not need you. Josef! Carlos!” He pointed to the men holding the assassins at gunpoint. “I have no use for those two. Get rid of them. Outside. HYDRA would not be pleased with the mess.”

Rogers felt his heart slam to a stop, watching the guards shove the resisting pair out the doors. “Hey, wait a minute,” Steve said, but Artego shoved a gun into his temple.

Artego smiled. “Very sweet, _mon Capitan_ , but they possess nothing that I want.” He glanced between the other two Avengers. “But you, my friend, and this man,” he gestured to Stark, “should bring me good money. The man who was found in the ice and the billionaire with the suit.”

He was cut off from further gloating when the distant sounds of a commotion from outside could be heard. Artego smiled and Steve’s blood froze as he heard two consecutive shots fire, and then nothing more.


	8. Migrate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I have also begun uploading another multi-chapter story. Check it out if you like backstories or Clint ;)

Clint and Natasha shared an annoyed look as they were frog marched outside. When they turned the corner and the doors came into view, Clint shot her a meaningful look. She nodded sharply once.

Clint dug deep inside himself and found the switch. He closed his eyes flipped it.

This time, when he made the transformation, it was smooth and painless. And when he became the hawk, only his body was hawk – Barton was in complete control. His mind was wholly with him.

When the guards froze with wide, shocked eyes, Natasha made her move. She spun around and punched one in the throat, sending him to his knees, and spun for a roundhouse kick right to the other ones gut. Clint settled calmly on the floor and watched as she grabbed the guards’ guns, pointed one gun in the air and fired off two successive shots. She turned back to the Hawk, nodded, and took off back down the hallway, Clint soaring smoothly beside her.

She stopped outside the door to the explosives cache and listened for a moment. Artego was gloating. She rolled her eyes at how horribly cliché he was.

“You see? Not invincible. And I barely had to lift a finger. I –“ he was cut off as Natasha and Clint made their spectacular entrance.

Natasha flung the door open, firing the guns she held in each hand, while Clint swooped in straight for Artego’s face. He would have laughed at his expression if his hawk form could laugh. He snatched the gun out of Artego’s hands with his talons and dropped it into Steve’s waiting hands. Stark wasted no time in taking out his own captor, and within seconds the Avengers had control of the situation once more.

Rogers tapped his earpiece. “Banner, the situation is under control. Stand down.”

Clint was missing his earpiece but he thought that was for the better. Natasha cringed as Banner supposedly responded in a slightly hysterical tone. Perhaps he had been on the verge of ‘going green’.

Steve had his gun pointed at Artego, but the man wasn’t going anywhere. He was frozen on the floor, slightly curled in on himself and staring at Clint in horror. He mumbled incoherently to himself in Spanish. When Clint came back from around a crate, back to normal and dressed, Artego crossed himself and spoke in even more rapid Spanish. Clint caught a few words and tossed his head back in a laugh. Even Natasha quirked a small smile.

Stark frowned, glancing back and forth between the quivering man and the laughing man. “What? What’d he say?”

Clint shook his head, still chuckling with mirth. Natasha spoke up from beside him, her lips twisted upwards as she tried to keep from laughing. “He thinks that Clint is a demon.”

“Oh, Natasha, please let me sit next to him on the helicopter,” Clint pleaded. “Please, oh please.”

Natasha arched an amused eyebrow. “No, Clint. You can’t. You’ll kill the man from fear. Fury wouldn’t be pleased.”

Clint pouted.

Tony snorted. “You want to see a demon? Let me introduce you to my friend Bruce.”

Clint settled an arm around Natasha’s shoulders. “Just like Budapest, huh?” he asked, a smirk on his lips.

“You and I remember Budapest very differently,” she responded.

* * *

 

Several months had passed since the incident in Mexico, and things certainly hadn’t settled down for the Avengers. Different alien races and mad scientists alike each seemed determined to try their hand at taking over the world. It was almost getting to be a typical day when Barton would find himself covered in some sort of bright blue sludge – the alien equivalent of blood.

There were, however, those days where it was anything but the norm.

This was one of those days. The race they had fought wasn’t particularly trying, but they had had access to a cache of ammunition and several small bombs, effectively making themselves a nuisance. The two spies had been tasked with finding the bombs and disarming them. They had found all but two before time had run out. One bomb had been placed in an empty warehouse, with no people around. The second bomb, however, had been in a movie theatre, and while no one was injured in the blast, the building collapsed on the occupants, killing five and injuring twenty-three.

The air around the Avengers was palpably sombre as they trudged back to HQ to debrief and clean up. Clint was especially silent, only answering questions when he was directly asked to report and as soon as they were finished, he disappeared from the room.

Natasha said nothing, even when all eyes turned to her. She cast a saddened look down at the table before she too, left the room. She knew where her partner was going.

Clint stopped for a moment and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He cast another glance at the wreckage around him. Several men scurried about, operating cranes or manually shifting debris. It was hectic, but this was where he needed to be. Helping those he had failed. Natasha had stopped by earlier and threw several hours in as help, but she had been called back to base for a consultation.

He stepped aside to grab his water bottle, and that’s when he pulled out his cellphone to check his messages. He was surprised to see that he had missed 52 calls. Bewildered, he scrolled through the notifications. 11 from Bruce, 9 from Steve, 13 from Thor, and 19 from Tony. He had several voicemail messages from them also.

With a sigh, he accessed his inbox and listened. The first was from Bruce.

_“Hey, Clint. Um – how are you? And, where are you? We’re kind of worried here.” There was some shouting in the background. “Okay, sorry, Steve and I are worried. Tony is – indifferent. He says he’s indifferent. It’s been a few days now. Come back, please?”_

The next was from Steve.

_“Clint. You can’t beat yourself up over this. There is always a civilian risk in every operation. We knew this. This wasn’t your fault. You disarmed thirty-four bombs, Clint! Thirty-four! You saved hundreds of lives. If you and Natasha hadn’t been there, the death count would have been much larger than five.”_

The next 12 were from Thor.

 _“CLINT!”_ Dial tone.

 _“This contraption cut me – “_ Dial tone.

 _“Archer? Are you there?”_ Another voice could be heard in the background, then Thor’s voice rumbled through again. _“How can he hear me? He does not respond!”_ Dial tone.

Clint shook his head with a small smile and put the phone away. He had to get back to work.

Several hours later, he stopped when a strange sound caught his attention. He realized after several seconds that it was his phone vibrating. When the person on the other end hadn’t hung up, Clint reached for it. “Yeah?” he ground out. He didn’t have time for this nonsense.

“Sir,” came the automated posh British voice of JARVIS, “your presence is required at Stark Tower.”

“Aw, come on,” Clint moaned. “What happened now? Why can’t the others deal with it?”

“I have declared it a state of emergency. Agent Barton, this is a matter of life and death.”

Clint swore violently but said, “I’ll be there.” Having no clue as to what he was going to be walking into, Clint wasted no time in hopping on his motorcycle and gunning it back to the Tower. As he approached, he noticed that the building was not on fire and there were no portals opening up above it. In fact, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He flung the doors open and ran to the personal elevator, pausing for a moment as he did not know which floor to go to. JARVIS’ smooth voice rang out as the elevator began to move on its own. “I will take you the appropriate floor, Agent Barton.”

“Alright,” Clint murmured, checking his weapon. The scene that greeted him when he opened the doors sent him back a step.

There were balloons and confetti and lights strung everywhere. He could smell popcorn and cotton candy and hot dogs. Along two walls were a few pinball machines and a skeeball machine. And the team milled around, drinks and food in hand, very much alive and well and completely at ease.

“’State of emergency’? Really, Stark?” Clint called to the genius as he holstered his weapon.

Stark shrugged, completely unapologetic. “Had to get you here, didn’t I?”

Natasha sidled up to him, a burger in her hand. She offered it to him, a satisfied grin on her face. He frowned at her, only slightly annoyed that she had been in on it.

Stark spread his arms wide. “We got the works. Wanted to make you feel at home, so we have everything here you would get at the circus. And it’s all deep-fried. We even have deep-fried butter. Did you know you can do that? How the hell did you not have a heart-attack, eating this crap every day?”

Clint chuckled. “We didn’t have that _every_ day.”

Stark rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Anyways, if you really want to have your pity party, at least have it here from now on. Got it?”

Clint ducked his head, not meeting any of their eyes. He realized he may have been taking the blow a little hard, especially now that he had friends who wanted him around, no matter what.

He took a bite of his burger and shot Stark a grin. “Now, who wants to play me in Skeeball?”


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Mutant! Thanks to all who read or reviewed! Check out my other fic Thursday's Child for Hawkeye backstory, and the answer to the penultimate question: What the heck DID happen in Budapest? (Among other things).

“Stay inside, boys. Boys!” The mother called to her two sons, who paid her no heed as they tripped over themselves to get to the front door.

Sean, the eldest, yanked the door open and his younger brother, Thomas, peered from around his back at the destruction in front of them. There were craters and overturned cars lining their street, and several fallen…things.

“Wow,” Sean breathed, just as their mother reached them.

“I told you boys to stay inside. We don’t know if the fight is over yet.” She frowned and set her hands on each of their shoulders, holding them back inside the house as she too, surveyed the scene. She breathed a small sigh of relief at the fact that their house was still standing, fairly unscathed. It had been a terrifying two hours they had spent in the basement. She looked morosely at her flower bed. “My petunias,” she lamented.

Thomas had his neck craned, scanning the sky and surrounding area. He fell onto Sean a few times. After the third time, Sean asked, “What are you doing?”

“Looking for him, Sean! Looking for Hawkeye!” Thomas exclaimed excitedly.

Sean rolled his eyes. “You’re still convinced he’s an actual hawk.”

Thomas nodded enthusiastically. “He is! Devin told me that there’s always a bird around the Avengers when Hawkeye isn’t there. And he swoops like this,” Thomas demonstrated, making a _whoosh_ sound as he moved his hand through the air.

“That’s dumb,” his brother retorted.

“Sean,” his mother started warningly.

“Nu-uh. Just wait. Wait for him,” Thomas argued. He continued to look up at the sky. He gasped and jumped up and down. “There! There! Right there!” He pointed at a hawk that had just settled on the light post across the street. “I told you,” he said to Sean. “I told you!”

“That’s not him!”

“It is! It is!”

“Is not!”

“Is too! Is too!”

Sean opened his mouth to argue his point again, when the hawk let out a loud cry, and dove straight for them. Both boys jumped back in fright as the hawk came within a foot of them, before changing course and heading back the way he had come.

The three stood in complete shock for several moments, before Thomas grinned and pointed at his pale brother. “I told you!” He cried triumphantly.


End file.
